Elisabeth Corey – World of Psychologyhttp://psychcentral.com/blog
Dr. John Grohol's daily update on all things in psychology and mental health. Since 1999.Fri, 09 Dec 2016 16:45:30 +0000en-UShourly1111817284I Won’t Make the Same Mistakes My Parents Madehttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/12/07/i-wont-make-the-same-mistakes/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/12/07/i-wont-make-the-same-mistakes/#commentsMon, 07 Dec 2015 23:55:06 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=82368“I will not make the same mistakes my parents made.” It may be one of the most common sentiments in the world of parenting. But when we express this desire, it is often met with rolled eyes or some other doubtful response. Why is that? Deep down inside, I think we all sense it is much more complicated than we are willing to acknowledge.

Changing our parenting approach from the way we were raised is extremely difficult. The only easy solution is to swing the parenting pendulum to the opposite extreme, which does very little to improve the situation.

It is as though we are hardwired to behave in the same manner. In reality, that may be the truth. Our brain has been wired to perceive reality in a certain way.

Changes in parenting are largely responsible for human evolution. If we were parenting the same as the first humans, things would be very different. But to make changes in generational parenting requires conscious choices and a honed awareness of the patterns we want to stop. That is not easy. There has to be significant motivation to make that happen.

In the case of parents who grew up with complex trauma, we have all the motivation we could possibly need. The complex trauma survivors I know have vowed they will never abuse their children. And this is great to hear. There are a large number of parents who have agreed to stop the cycle of abuse. And I know they will.

But there’s a problem. While the sexual and physical abuse will stop with them, there are other patterns or habits that are harder to notice and change. These habits come from the belief systems within abusive families that are passed down to children. And they are exceptionally hard habits to break. But the first step is awareness. And I have made it my mission to bring these habits in to the light.

There are seven habits that seem to be particularly prominent within the survivor parent community:

We hover.
Hovering sends the wrong message to our children. It lets them know they can’t handle life without our help. We must prepare our children for life on their own. And we can do that by prepping them with the confidence and high self-esteem that wards off predators. Hovering won’t do that.

We disconnect.
Dissociation was the only technique that got us through childhood. But now, we find it difficult to enjoy life and be present with our children. We may even feel like we are living in two different worlds. As we learn techniques to come back to the moment, we can dramatically impact our relationship with our children.

We struggle to set boundaries.
Children are going to push boundaries even when they are set well. But with trauma, we struggle to set them and stick to them. Children may express triggering emotions. They may get aggressive, which can be terrifying for us. But no matter what they say, children need limits to feel safe. And we have to find a way to tolerate their response to our limits.

We mistrust others.
We never learned trust. Our family taught us the opposite. So we may show a little more disbelief than the average parent. We may assume ulterior motives more than other parents. And we may be faced with a bit more lying, especially if we react strongly to it. It is important that we use trusting words with our children so they know we believe them. But that takes practice and awareness.

We respond from fear.
I often hear from clients about how they lost control. I describe it as the “invasion of the body snatchers” phenomenon. We don’t want to yell. We certainly don’t want to rage. But when the situation appears dangerous to our inner child, we are no longer in control. It can take every ounce of strength we have to get it back. By that point, the damage is often done.

Although apologies are a great thing, it would be nice to respond differently. We must begin some inner conversations to curb that fear response.

We pass down our beliefs.
We might not be passing down the traumatic abuse, but our unconscious statements and actions can make quite an impact on our children. Children of parents with trauma can learn that they are powerless to make change, genders are not equal, maintaining control is safer, and emotional expression is not safe. If you are noticing anxiety in your children, they may be picking up on some of these messages.

We compensate for our insecurities.
Nobody feels comfortable as a parent. Nobody knows what he or she is doing. But survivors of trauma are convinced they are the worst at it. There are many reasons for that. Maybe there is no extended family around. Maybe there is only one parent. Maybe there is guilt because survivors have been taught that everything is their fault. But monetary and material compensation doesn’t send the right message. We need to find other ways to manage the guilt because, more than likely, it is misplaced.

There is no easy solution. We are hardwired and we have to change slowly and deliberately. If we have raised our children with these habits for a while, the children need to change too (although it is much easier for them). We have to be aware daily that we are carrying the legacy we don’t want.

I have developed an email workshop called The 7 Habits of Parents with Complex Trauma. Each week, you can examine how one habit is affecting your life and what you can do about it. The first step is always awareness. I can help you with that step. If you are determined to make positive change in your family, I can get you started with tips and journaling prompts that helped me in my own journey. So join me as you start this life-changing work. And let’s stop this cycle for good.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/12/07/i-wont-make-the-same-mistakes/feed/382368Surviving Abuse: Rejecting the Scarcity Liehttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/09/25/rejecting-the-scarcity-lie/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/09/25/rejecting-the-scarcity-lie/#respondFri, 25 Sep 2015 15:45:25 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=79454Survivors of abuse often live a life plagued with scarcity. We were taught at a young age that we weren’t enough, there wasn’t enough and life would not provide enough for us in the future. When we suffer financial abuse or trafficking, things are often worse. We can believe we have a finite worth, we are a commodity, and we have already expended that worth. All these beliefs leave very little hope for an abundant future.

My relationship with money has been a struggle for my entire life. I always made enough to survive when I worked in the corporate world. As I have started working for myself, I have come face-to-face with my monetary dysfunction. The lack of stability, the self-doubt and the intense commitment required make it scary on the good days.

Recently, I have spent some time identifying the beliefs that hold me back.

If I charge for my services, it won’t be worth it.
I have always struggled with impostor’s syndrome. In a family trying to appear like something it is not, it goes without saying. I know I am helping people. I know I am making a difference. I hear from my clients that I am providing them safety and a new perspective. But I still hear that voice: “Are you crazy? You are just an abused little girl. What could you possibly have to offer anyone else? Stop pretending and go back to your hiding place.”

While the inner voice comes up less and less, I still hear it. Every once in a while, it tricks me for a second.

If I charge for my services, people won’t like me because money is bad.
This belief comes from my experience with trafficking. I grew up in a family that would do anything for money, even sell their children for sex. Money was God. Money was everything. It didn’t take long before money was evil, in my opinion. Money was never something that could be used to provide an abundant life. It was used to control, abuse and wield power over others.

If I charge others for my work, I am just an evil businessperson who is taking advantage of others. The fact that I am charging a reasonable price for life-changing work still is forming in my own mind.

There won’t be enough people interested in my work.
If I don’t get this client, I’m in trouble. The scarcity shows up loud and clear here. I have actually been told that there just aren’t enough survivors to help in the world. I don’t believe it. Even if you believe the 1 in 4 and 1 in 6 statistics, there are many survivors who need help. Of course, I don’t believe those statistics. I believe they are much higher. But the scarcity belief permeates everything I do. I must have this client, car, house, dress, husband because there will never be another one. To an abuse survivor, the world is not an abundant place.

There aren’t enough services I can provide to make the money I need to survive.
On most days, I can think of endless services to provide to others. But on the bad days, I just can’t see how I can find enough work to make this happen. I know that I can’t see everything in my future. I know my higher self has plans I cannot dream of. But I am a control freak. And if I can’t imagine it, it must not be possible. So I stress about my diversification.

I can’t possibly do what I love and make money at it.
The victim voice still lives within me. And while it is quieter than it was, I can still sense it beneath the surface. “I can’t have what I want. I can’t have it all. I can’t do what I love and live a comfortable life. If I want to do this work, I must live in a shack and eat ramen noodles.”

I know it is not true. I know I am not a victim to this life. I can manifest what I want, and I will. But the voice is there. Sometimes I hear it.

While I get caught up in the scarcity belief ingrained in me as a child, I intellectually know that life doesn’t work like that. I know that life is abundant. There are far too many people on this planet. There is far too much beauty, love, pets, nature, children, beaches, mountains and sunsets for me to live in scarcity. I am meant to live in abundance. I am meant to live a life that takes full advantage of all that can be offered to me.

While the beliefs are still hanging on, I can see them diminishing over time. I remind myself of the opportunities that come to me every day. I remind myself of the impressive progress I have made in a small amount of time. I remind myself of my dreams; they are not unrealistic.

I can’t help but know the abusers were wrong. I can have enough. I am just as likely to experience abundance as everyone else. I am a survivor. And I am worth it.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/09/25/rejecting-the-scarcity-lie/feed/079454The Anxious Cycle: How Children Inherit Our Anxietyhttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/07/29/the-anxious-cycle/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/07/29/the-anxious-cycle/#respondWed, 29 Jul 2015 22:55:44 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=76802As a victim of childhood trauma, I have a propensity toward anxiety. It is my reaction of choice when life gets difficult. Having lived with anxiety most of my life, I never knew there was another way to live. I assumed it was normal. I assumed everybody lived this way.

I became so used to the way anxiety made me feel, I could function through almost any symptoms. Sometimes, the panic attacks would paralyze me momentarily, but I could work through the quick breathing and the heart racing. At the end of the day, I would be exhausted, as though I had run a marathon, but I could make it work.

That changed when I had children. My children were triggering my anxiety on a new scale. I could barely make it through a day without a full-scale panic attack. I was falling apart fast and I knew I needed to make changes.

When I started my trauma recovery work, I had no idea how intense that journey would be. I had no idea because I didn’t remember the trauma. I had repressed most of my childhood memories. As I journeyed through the memories of my childhood, I learned two valuable lessons:

My anxiety was the outer manifestation of a war within myself. My inner child, the part of me which was inundated by the trauma, was trying to express the pain. But the conscious part of me, which was attempting to run my external life, was suppressing it as much as possible.

My children were a constant reminder of that inner child I was trying to suppress. I could not live in the same house with them and continue to ignore the past.

I did everything I could to shield my children from my anxiety. I was already equipped with the ability to hide my anxiety from the general public, and this was helpful. However, I had never been triggered like this. I had never retrieved memories before. And before a memory, my anxiety would skyrocket as my internal war reached new levels.

There were two aspects of my anxiety expression that I could not control. First, children have the ability to read us on a level that adult acquaintances can’t. They are tuned in to a different signal. They pick up on our energy. Even when I was an Oscar-worthy actress, they could tell something was wrong, and they internalized it.

Second, while they may not have witnessed my racing heart or my shortness of breath directly, they noticed (and copied) the external symptoms of my anxiety. Those symptoms manifested in three ways:

Perfectionism.
Before I had kids, I had severe OCD. It was bad. I was known to comb rug fringe. As a child, I had learned to control whatever I could control. I had learned that I could stay alive this way. And unfortunately, this continued in adulthood.

As I became a parent, I realized I had to leave this behind or we would all go crazy. But the perfectionism stuck around in other ways. My expectations were high for myself and my children. I was a stickler for a schedule. And while that worked well when creating a predicable schedule for toddlers, it didn’t work well when I needed to be patient. The children learned to hurry, and not in a good way. To this day, they are constantly aware of the time and usually ask if we are running late.

Focusing on the bad.
Anxiety tends to direct the focus to what might go wrong. I used to consider myself an excellent planner. I could foresee almost anything. At work, I was known for this ability. Unfortunately, in daily life, it tended to manifest as constant worry. I thought I was doing myself a favor. I thought I was staying on top of things or avoiding disasters. But in reality, I was using most of my energy to worry excessively.

I was sure my children didn’t know. After all, they could not read minds. But clearly the message was getting through in my actions and unconscious comments. It was best to focus on the bad, just to be safe. So now, I notice my daughter’s tendency to mention how something isn’t going to work out before she tries it. I remind her to focus on the good and I try to focus on it myself. But old habits can be hard to break.

Boundaries.
I grew up in an environment where boundaries and children were not respected. It took a while for me to see my children as little humans with the same rights as everyone else. They had the same right to speak up for themselves. They could ask for privacy. And they could provide input about how we would spend our day. If children feel a lack of respect for their space, they will naturally feel anxious. While we have made great strides in learning about personal space and asking permission, my children are still learning the value of personal space and how to fully respect words like “no” and “stop.”

If you notice that anxiety runs high in your family, there are steps you can take:

Practice self-awareness. What attitudes and actions are you bringing to your children? Bring attention to it. Take time to discuss it collaboratively with your children.

Try a screening tool. Sometimes it can be hard to notice anxiety if it has always been there. There are ways to determine if you are struggling with anxiety in your daily life.

Use an online test for children. When children are anxious, it may not be obvious to a parent.

While anxiety may not be obvious if we have always lived with it, it can negatively affect our children’s approach to life as adults. Take time to understand how it may be affecting your family, bring awareness to the manifestations and stop the generational cycle. While you may never know the full effect of your actions, the smallest changes can make a lifelong impact on your family’s mental health.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/07/29/the-anxious-cycle/feed/076802The Myth of Perfectionism: I Can’t Make Me Happyhttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/26/i-cant-make-me-happy/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/26/i-cant-make-me-happy/#respondFri, 26 Jun 2015 23:15:57 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=75215I think all the time. I have always been overly cognitive. Inhabiting my body was not safe when I was a child. I invented a much nicer world in my head and it helped me through some horrible situations.

But constant thinking is a recipe for disaster. It is easy to take small things and turn them in to big things. That’s how the brain works. It stays in charge that way.

The problem with the “brain on trauma” is the creation of problems that do not exist. The brain will take those old, separated emotions and create a problem to accompany them. Then, the brain will create all sorts of approaches to resolve the nonexistent problem. This overactive brain of mine has led to heavy anxiety levels and an exhaustion that reflects running a marathon a day.

While constant daily “planning” can lead to exhaustion, it also leads to another detrimental problem: expectations. In order to meet my needs for safety through general life perfection, everyone must meet my expectations. Since I believe I have life figured out, life can become disappointing very quickly, because life is not something that can be figured out.

While some of my expectations are unfairly aimed at the people around me, most of my expectations fall squarely on me. And there is nothing worse than failing to meet my own unrealistic expectations. The punishment never stops. I can’t get away from me.

Although I have learned to ease up on myself in many areas of my life, I am abusive about my parenting. When I say I am abusive, I don’t mean I am abusive to my children. I mean I am abusive to me. Every time I yell at my children, the nasty internal chastising begins. “You promised to end the cycle. You promised to be a good parent. You are supposed to leave the old dysfunction behind. You aren’t allowed to yell, to have a bad day, to say the wrong thing, to be a human being.”

I made an unrealistic pact with myself to be perfect. And I am constantly disappointing myself. So when I attended a parenting workshop recently, imagine my surprise when the instructor mentioned her thoughts on breaking cycles. She said these changes in parenting will take generations. She said that if we can move the meter just a little, we are doing amazingly well.

The part of me with the unrealistic expectations wanted to scream about how that just wasn’t enough. We must achieve perfection and we must achieve it now. We don’t have time. We don’t have generations.

It is this part I have answered to all these years, that I rebel against when the expectations get overwhelming. And it is the battles with this part that drain my energy to a bare minimum, making it more difficult to be a good parent.

So maybe there is a way to ease the pressure. Maybe there is a way to change my expectations slightly and give myself a little less trouble when I am not having a peaceful parenting moment. Maybe those expectations just make the bad days worse. Maybe, just maybe, I could benefit from a little benefit of the doubt. I am, after all, only human. And I am attempting to break a cycle that has lasted for generations upon generations. If it were easy, others would have figured it out by now, and my childhood would have been much different.

So yesterday, when I told my son that he “blew it,” I knew I should not have said it. I knew I was not being the parent I wanted to be. And unlike years before, I knew it quickly. So I said I was sorry. I said I understood that he was nervous. I said I totally got why he couldn’t handle the pressure. And he took a deep breath of relief.

But I didn’t, because I had to go through hours of self-analysis and abusive internal comments. I had to spend time evaluating why I just can’t seem to figure out how to be a perfect parent. Why do I always have to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing? Why can’t I just be better?

I’m making an effort to stop it. Of course, expecting to instantly stop my expectations seems a bit ridiculous. I have to expect that my expectations will take time to shift. I have to be easy on myself, even the part of me that is too critical.

The inner critic is a part of me too, a part that needs love. I just need to shift my awareness to my expectations and say, “Oh look. I am expecting again.” No judgment. No expectation to stop expecting. And slowly, things will shift because they do. Slowly, my energy will redirect from that internal battle to living life. Magically, I will be a better parent, because I am not expecting to be a perfect parent.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/26/i-cant-make-me-happy/feed/075215The Perfection in Beinghttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/21/the-perfection-in-being/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/21/the-perfection-in-being/#respondSun, 21 Jun 2015 10:45:00 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=75217When I was growing up, my parents wanted me to be perfect. They were very clear that I must exceed all standards. They wanted me to have perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect extracurricular activities. They pressured me to be the picture of everything society wanted from a human being.

This expectation created a storm inside me. I was sure I was none of those things. I had been abused long enough to know I had no real worth. I was sure I had nothing to offer the world. I was an imposter. I had no value to add to the human race. I was only here to be victimized. I was constantly playing tug of war with my external mask of perfection and my internal self-hatred. I could not handle failure. I could not handle rejection. It wasn’t that I didn’t see it coming. I knew it was inevitable because it was the truth. And it would blow my cover.

I worked hard to be accepted by everyone. I was an obsessive overachiever. And all the teachers, coaches and other authority figures loved me. But when they didn’t, I thought my world would come to an end. I was sure my life would be in danger if people found out my real worth. And that was a lot of pressure.

But I have come to realize that I am no different than everyone else. Everyone feels the tug of unworthiness. Everyone is waiting to be found out. My parents definitely felt it because they passed it on to me. My friends feel it. My children feel it.

I see it in the people I interact with everyday. Insecurity runs rampant. And it triggers me, which must mean I can relate. I see the constant need to prove worthiness in sports, in school, in activities. “My kid does more things.” “My kid does them better.” “My kid is smarter.” And I am not suggesting that they say those things out loud. But it is in their actions. It is under the surface.

I often wonder what it would feel like to live without the sense of unworthiness. I wonder how to convince my children that they don’t have to hide behind a mask of perfection. I try not to use that word. We say “practice makes good enough” in our family. I try not to push them to meet standards set in schools, standards that were never created to benefit their self-esteem, standards that were created to continue the comparison to others. They are smart and they love to learn. That is what matters to me.

I don’t push them in sports. There really is no point. They are small for their age, which makes them less competitive in most sports. And as a single mother, they are not getting the sports messages from me that some kids get. So while I want them to understand that they have to work at something, I don’t want them to think they have to be great at it. If they enjoy it, that is what matters.

I have to be honest. I don’t know what I would do if they were prodigies or unusually talented athletes. Would I fall victim to the feeling of superiority? Would I allow my children’s talents to fill that void of unworthiness within me? Would I become one of those people who seeks out glory through projection? I don’t know. I am not faced with that decision at this time.

I am not sure it matters. Whether we exceed, meet, defy or ignore the standards, we still know they are there. The kids still know they are there. The standards have been internalized and they are making their mark on our inner being. We are forgetting that we are here for something completely different and we are missing the point completely.

Aren’t we here to remove the masks and stop the overachievement, defiance or any other behavior that plays in to the comparison between people? What if we are here to be who we are, without the pressure of competition and comparison? What if the goal was to embody ourselves so fully, so completely, that others couldn’t even ask what our latest test scores were? They would be too mesmerized by our being. And we were perfect because we were.

I ask these questions because I get the sense that my children are asking this of me. They don’t say it, but they embody it. Recently my son looked at me with the most loving expression and said I was his perfect mother. He didn’t say it because I had just done something amazing, won a race, or aced a test. He said it because I was sitting with him, giving him my attention, focusing on him in the present moment. And it was perfect because there was nothing to compare it to. It was perfect because it was.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/06/21/the-perfection-in-being/feed/075217Learning from Abusive Relationshipshttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/01/07/learning-from-abusive-relationships/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2015/01/07/learning-from-abusive-relationships/#commentsWed, 07 Jan 2015 18:45:30 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=67877Relationships are hard for everyone, but especially for survivors of child abuse. Before I started my recovery work, I spent years in relationships that were obviously abusive and damaging to my emotional wellness, but I was too blinded by my own trauma to see it.

My family had always taught me that survival depended on having a man in my life. In my family, women kept abusive men around because of this belief.

It was critically important for this to be ingrained in each family member as early as possible. There could be no understanding of their individual power. They must believe they could not survive without a partner or the abuse might not be tolerated.

So, I spent many years in codependent relationships that perpetuated my belief systems born from an abusive childhood. I am not worthy of love. I am not meant to be happy. I must do whatever my partner wants so that he will remain happy and not leave me. I cannot say no. I cannot react to his emotionally and verbally abusive comments because that might be dangerous.

It was not until my children were born that I realized something needed to change. As I have written before, it was their birth that gave me the motivation to examine my past.

As I began to shift, the old started to fall away from my life. My marriage imploded. My family started to become angry with me as I set boundaries, eventually culminating in a complete separation. Some of my friends moved on, but some stayed, which was honestly a bit confusing for me. I had never experienced that before.

Over time, I began to add new and beautiful things to my life. I added a new school community that has been incredibly affirming and supportive of my little family. I added new friends who are willing to be vulnerable with me. I started a new career doing what I love.

But there has been one elusive relationship that has not manifested. I call it the Mount Everest of my recovered life. To nobody’s surprise, it is the healthy intimate relationship that seems unconquerable. Maybe that’s part of my problem. My willful side loves to see this as another goal to meet.

It is obvious I approach my life using my will. I even named my website Beating Trauma. But I use my will for good too. I use it to ask the right questions of my inner thoughts. I use it to keep myself from hiding from the pain. It is both a help and a hindrance. And my understanding of that makes it possible to find some balance.

So as I venture into this world of intimate relationships, I find that I have the same problem I used to have. I no longer attract men who are obviously verbally and emotionally abusive. I now attract much more healthy people. But sometimes, they might not treat me like I am worthy of them. And sometimes, I don’t notice it at first.

Sometimes, I will hang up the phone with an eerie feeling that I was just snowed. I will have this sneaking suspicion that I don’t feel very good about myself. And then I will realize that there were several suggestions about my lack of worthiness during the discussion.

It is never anything obvious. It isn’t a slap in the face. It is subtle to me. It doesn’t mean they aren’t a good match for me, but it does mean that I need to set some boundaries to knock out some bad habits in our interactions.

So, while the relationships are improving, I have a similar requirement. It is my responsibility to continue my intense work of awareness. I must stay aware of these subtleties as they are released into my space. I have to ask why I still attract these subtle expressions of my unworthiness. I have to ask what the mirror is showing me, the mirror sent to help me grow.

How do I still feel unworthy of love from others? Do I only feel unworthy of love from some people? Who? Where is it coming from in my psyche? What experiences still need to be processed? I have to ask the hard questions. I have to process the tough emotions. I have to work to unbreak my heart a little more with each answer I receive.

And this is hard work. To me, it is worth it, but only because I have seen the results of my earlier questions. I know who I have become through this work, so I know the possibilities are endless.

Eight years ago, I didn’t think I stood a chance. I didn’t think I could be a good parent. I didn’t think I could make it on my own without a partner. I didn’t think I would find my passion in career. I didn’t think I would ever see myself as worthy of anything. And that has changed. So this can change too. I have no doubt. I have learned that anything is possible through self awareness, through asking the hard questions.

So I will keep asking. The answers are hard, but I would rather know. Because it is that knowledge that grows me. It is that knowledge that manifests the new.

You’ve been through so much and I am not sure how you coped. Your strength inspires me with every memory I recover. I know you are the reason we are alive today. And I thank you for all you did to keep going. Sometimes, others ask me how I lived through it and I don’t know the answer.

You carried that burden. And to some extent, you still do.

Unfortunately, some of those approaches you used to stay alive might be setting us back these days. The dissociation, the isolation and the anxiety were perfect coping strategies in an environment of prolonged and inescapable trauma. But we aren’t there anymore. We live in a different world, a more benign world.

Sure, there are still plenty of people who need an attitude adjustment (or much more). And the days when the kids just don’t care about boundaries can be a little rough. But in the current reality, there is safety, the kind you never knew as a child.

And I know you are tired. I know you are tired of the inner battles, the panic attacks and the attempts to thwart situations for which you should never have been responsible. And that is just it. You should not have to understand the adult dilemmas you were once expected to figure out. And I am here to tell you that you don’t have to anymore.

Why? Because there’s an adult here now. Not the kind of adult you are used to. Not the kind of adult that tells you lies, gains your trust and then invades your boundaries. Not the kind of adult that manipulates you to believe that all the pain is your fault.

This is an adult with your best interest in mind. This is an adult that never wants to hurt you. This is me, you, just older. And I want what you want. I want peace.

But peace doesn’t come the way you think it does. It doesn’t come by hiding or avoiding all difficult situations and people. That was the only option you had as a child. And I commend you for using it to stay alive. But today, peace comes from listening to that inner calling, that larger purpose.

Peace comes from standing up for myself and not worrying about what that other person thinks of me, or if they will retaliate later. Peace comes from knowing I am the full expression of my being.

I know you don’t agree. I hear you loud and clear. Some refer to their voice as an inner critic. They even talk about drowning it out or ignoring it. But I know better. I know you are a scared child and you are afraid of changing. You are afraid the change might result in death, or even worse, further abuse. While you may be critical, you are just trying to be protective.

I don’t want to drown you out. I want to work with you. I want to cooperate. I want to use your knowledge to help us grow and become stronger. Your caution is needed. But so is my passion for purpose. And the more we integrate, the closer we will come to the peace we both seek. Because the inner division will never bring peace. And since neither of us can have it completely our way, we will either continue without peace or we will work together. And with peace comes a meaningful life. They are the same. They must be.

So today I appeal to you, my child. And I know you aren’t sure what to think because honestly, nobody has ever appealed to you before. You have always been told what to do. You have always been forced to be someone different. And I know you don’t trust me. But I appeal to you anyway. And I will wait until you can understand that I am not here to manipulate or take advantage of you.

But I would like you to let me take care of that adult stuff that is just too much for a child to take on. I would like you to let go, just a little, so I can do for you what nobody ever did, let you be a child, let you grow and develop in the way you were never allowed. And as you do, all that you are will become who I am. And we will be together, living life in a unified inner world.

And you will finally be able to rest. You will finally be able to close your eyes without fear. You will finally find peace under my wing.

You will be home.

Love,

Me … And You

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/12/12/healing-my-inner-child/feed/766736It Must Be My Faulthttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/27/it-must-be-my-fault/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/27/it-must-be-my-fault/#respondWed, 27 Aug 2014 23:35:13 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=62416When I was a child, I was told that everything was my fault. Eventually, I believed it.

In reality, none of it was my fault. As an adult in recovery, I intellectually understand that now. But my unconscious parts are still working that out. My unconscious parts are still trying to make sense of the illogical.

I have struggled with self-worth my entire life. While I don’t see myself as capable of doing good things, I do see myself as powerful at manifesting the bad. More than likely, this comes from my understanding of the abusive adults in my childhood. I felt the same way about them. And I internalized that.

So, when bad things happen in my life, as they inevitably do, my overactive brain finds a way to make it my fault. I find a way to make it punishment for something I did or for who I am. And this happens unconsciously.

When I ended relationships with people in the past, I spent weeks or months attributing every negative experience in my life to the pain I caused that individual. Many of these relationships were abusive, and yet, I was not allowed to make the best choice for me. I was not allowed to be so selfish. On an unconscious level, I saw it necessary to experience punishment for the act of standing up for myself.

This continues today. When I make a parenting mistake, which happens more often than not, I believe I deserve to be treated poorly because I am a bad parent. When I say one wrong thing, I assume people will never want to interact with me again. When I muster the courage to write an article with a strong opinion, I expect an on-line backlash of massive proportions. I expect followers to leave in droves.

And while that is bad enough, it doesn’t stop there. My innate “badness” is also the cause of a world of problems … the world of problems. My unconscious can attribute almost anything to me.

There’s a tornado in Oklahoma? It is probably because I yelled at the kids yesterday. There’s an earthquake in Asia? I am sure that would not have happened if I hadn’t messed up that presentation. And honestly, the world would just be a better place if I had never been born. And yes, that is an exact quote from my childhood.

With these bizarre attempts at “cause and effect” running through my unconscious, it is not surprising that motivation is challenging. If I am innately bad, how will I ever do good things? That would be impossible, right? What is the point of all this writing? What is the point of that interview? What is the point of all my parenting research? If I am meant to be bad, how can I ever be anything else?

Unfortunately, this underlying current of futility follows me wherever I go. If something looks like it might be an amazing opportunity or a chance for success, I have to pass that up. I can’t get my hopes up because it can’t work out. In my life, it just isn’t allowed to work out. I am not a good enough person for that to work out.

This unconscious child part of me keeps things as mediocre as possible to avoid the downfall that is inevitable. And it battles everyday with that part of me that knows I can do amazing things.

But I keep working to convince that child part otherwise. I gently point out the amazing things I am doing. I make it a point to take in the difference I am making. I do my best to be hopeful and optimistic. I do my best to understand that I am capable of creating a positive future. And I work to forgive myself for the little things, even the big things.

But sometimes, I hurt others. In those times, I need help from others to move forward.

I have written in the past about the importance of believing survivors of sexual trauma. There is nothing more healing that hearing the words, “I believe you.” But there is a phrase that finishes a close second. If you are working with a survivor to help them heal, and they do something wrong, even something you take personally, remember the words “I forgive you.”

If a survivor is able to find the strength to say they are sorry and they receive forgiveness in return, it can be life changing.

It can give them the strength to forgive themselves in return.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/27/it-must-be-my-fault/feed/062416Grieving the Loss of Timehttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/25/grieving-the-loss-of-time/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/25/grieving-the-loss-of-time/#commentsMon, 25 Aug 2014 23:30:42 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=62419Sometimes starting a new life can bring up grief and regret for the old life. While I am happy to have new experiences without the pain and anxiety of the past, it makes me wish there had been more of it.

Time is such a tricky aspect of the human experience. We can’t control it. We can’t make more of it. We can’t get back what we think we have wasted. As the song says, it is like an hourglass glued to the table.

And while we can figure out how to control so many aspects of our lives (which is not always a good thing), we can’t control time. It will keep on going, with or without us.

And 42 years is a long time. It is more than 22 million minutes. It is more than half the lifespan for Americans. And for me, it is the longest amount of time I have ever known.

In my 42 years, I have received three different degrees from two colleges. I have lived in 10 houses and three countries. I have visited most European countries. I have been married twice and earned income ranging from nothing to six figures. I have managed teams of forty people and accomplished some massive projects that may have seemed impossible to some.

I have owned enough rental property to call myself a millionaire (on paper) and I have been bankrupt (not my proudest moment). And most importantly, I have managed to raise two small hearts to the ripe old age of 7.

Most would say I have filled my days well. I have succeeded. I have failed even more. And recently, I have even loved. Children will do that to the most cynical adults.

But there’s a problem. I have not really lived these 42 years. They seemed to belong to someone else. I seemed to belong to someone else. My life has never been my life. I was never free. I always seemed to be looking over my shoulder. I was not able to fully let go of the enmeshment with the useless adults who were a part of my childhood.

While I am proud of my recovery work, I do regret that my first meeting with my current therapist happened at age 34. I regret that my first recovered memory did not become clear to my conscious brain until I was 37. I regret the forgetting. I regret the waiting. I regret the years of running from my past.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that forgetting saved my life. But forgetting also consumed a large portion of my early adult years. So while I do my best to stay positive about all I have accomplished, I sometimes have to face the fact that I didn’t do it sooner.

I tried the “easy way” first. I tried to run from it. I tried to live with the past filling my unconscious with irrational belief systems, somehow expecting it to leave me alone. I would love to have that time back. I would have loved to live those early years with freedom, but I know that wishing for that is almost as futile as wishing for an apology from my abusers.

I know I can start over. I know that there is no better time than the present to do that. Of course, my memory recovery has a schedule of its own, which makes my inner control-freak very unhappy. And while my inner freedom does not entirely rely on memory recovery, it does rely on it. All my parts have to be free for me to be free. This I have learned.

And so I work to be free, truly free. And I try not to regret the life I have not known because nothing can come of that. But there is time lost. And there is grief about that time.

And yet I know I can be free for the next 42 years.

I can start now.

And this time can be mine.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/08/25/grieving-the-loss-of-time/feed/162419Where Do Bullies Come From?http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/05/where-do-bullies-come-from/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/05/where-do-bullies-come-from/#respondThu, 05 Jun 2014 22:35:33 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=58616I don’t write about my experiences with bullying very often. Maybe I have internalized society’s beliefs that I should have stood up for myself in middle and high school, especially when my peers were doing the bullying. Maybe the shame is more significant because this time, the abusers were my age.

Maybe the messages about “asking for it” are still driving my interpretation of the situation. Sometimes it is even hard for me to believe that I could be subjected to so much cruelty by so many heartless people. I felt as though I was a magnet for abuse.

To be fair, I believe that everyone experiences some bullying. Everyone is called names. Everyone has at least one friend who talks behind their back, whether they know it or not.

Most experience boundary invasions from pushing, shoving and other physical experiences that seem harmless to school children. I certainly experienced this.

Many bullies stop there. Why? The subjects stand up for themselves. They say “no.” They get angry. They stop speaking to the “friend” who is not treating them well. They tell their parents or teachers, who get involved.

These are all perfectly acceptable answers to bullying. And most of the time, the bully moves on. It is too much trouble to target that kid.

I am sure my bullying started with name-calling, pushing and shoving. But there was a problem. I had been “trained” by my family to respond differently to abusive behavior. I had been taught that “no” was not a word I could utter unless I was willing to be severely beaten. I had been taught that expressing my anger would result in retaliation that might even accidentally cause my death.

I had been told to keep my mouth shut. Asking for help was out of the question. And anyone who has ever read a parenting magazine knows that our relationship with our parents guides our relationships with others as we grow older.

So I quickly became the subject of more sinister treatment. It grew over time. Those who I considered my closest friends betrayed me on a regular basis. I would confide in them only to find out they had shared my deepest secrets with others. Or they would randomly stop talking to me for periods of time with no real explanation as to what I did wrong.

I was always walking on eggshells with my friends because I didn’t want to make them mad. It was a continuation of the chaos at home with no predictability or logical behavior. A healthy kid would have kicked that person to the curb, but I didn’t know how to do that.

It didn’t take long before the sexual boundaries were crossed. I had a couple of male friends who knew about my familial abuse for one reason or another. They threatened that they would tell everyone my secret if I did not fulfill their own sexual requests. In one extreme case, a teenage boy, one of my closest “friends,” started selling me at the school.

Looking back on it, it probably would have been perfect if they had divulged my family abuse. But by my teenage years, I had taken on the shame of my abuse. And nothing seemed worse that revealing it to the world. In my darker moments, I often wonder why nobody with a heart found out about my abuse.

It wasn’t just boys who were taking advantage of me. During my junior and senior year of high school, I had a “girlfriend” who was a trafficker. She would arrange for groups of kids and adults to go out together. She would arrange parties in the woods or at the beaches, but she always made sure there were private places for people to disappear.

Somehow, I would always find myself alone with an adult man. And it always seemed like he knew about it ahead of time.

Had I been raised in a healthy family, I would have called the police or at least rejected her invitations. But my brilliant childhood defense mechanism stopped such a logical response.

By the next morning, I completely forgot about the night before. I never consciously remembered that I was being raped, so I never knew to stay away from those who were arranging it.

And so the abuse continued. And so did the memory loss. Even into adulthood, I remained connected to some of these abusive people (although mainly at a distance).

It scares me to know that many of these abusers have children of their own. It scares me to know that they may never have learned that this behavior is abusive and illegal. It scares me to know they may be handing down these disgusting beliefs to the next generation.

When someone is a bully or is being bullied, it is not by accident. They have learned this behavior. Either they learned to be a bully from their family’s behavior or they learned not to stand up for themselves from their interaction with their family.

We have to reach out to these kids and teach them right from wrong. We need to ask the bullies why they are choosing to treat others in that way. We need to ask the victims why they don’t stop it. We must teach children and teenagers that they can always say “no” to their bullies and their family. And if something seems wrong, it is.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/05/where-do-bullies-come-from/feed/058616The Ultimate Pain: Recovering from Traumahttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/03/the-ultimate-pain-recovering-from-trauma/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/03/the-ultimate-pain-recovering-from-trauma/#commentsTue, 03 Jun 2014 22:35:23 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=58621Recovery work is painful. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is no wonder that I spent two decades avoiding it.

Deep down in my unconscious where the memories were stored, I had determined that the pain of the emotional memories was far worse than spending my life defending against them. And my overactive cortex was happy to oblige.

I could come up with almost anything to justify my feelings or an image that may have flashed in my head. On the bad days, I could keep myself so insanely busy that there was no time to examine anything.

My head would run in circles all day long, only stopping for sleep. It was exhausting. Some days, I felt like I had run a marathon from the anxiety and intensity of getting through the day. But it still seemed better than facing the pain.

After seven years of recovery, I can vouch that the emotional and physical pain of recovery is hard, but it is not as bad as the constant defending. Honestly, and a bit morbidly, it is unlikely that I would have survived much longer if I had continued down that old path of denial. I was getting physically sicker and sicker. There is no doubt in my mind that my life would have been cut short.

While my story has turned positive, there’s a lot of defending against the unconscious that is happening in our world today. And it isn’t just the victims of trauma. It is the perpetrators — maybe more so.

The pain of being a victim is hard to feel. For me, the misplaced shame is the worst. It sits in the pit of my stomach and makes me feel like I am going to throw up. I hate it. I always know when the shame is ready to be processed. And I always want to avoid it.

But the shame is worse for the perpetrators. They took their own victim shame and tried to place it with someone else. They unconsciously thought that would be easier than feeling it. But the shame multiplied. And now the pain is worse.

And so they continue to act on their shame. They somehow believe that a certain number of victims will make the pain go away. But with more victims comes more shame. And with more shame comes more defending.

In Trauma and Recovery, Dr. Judith Herman discusses the pain of committing evil acts: “The violation of human connection, and consequently the risk of the post-traumatic stress disorder, is highest of all when the survivor has not been merely a passive witness but also an active participant in violent death or atrocity.”

It is the ultimate pain. I know because I have felt it. When I was in middle school, my stepfather forced me to sexually abuse a younger family member.

He stood in the corner of the room in the dark telling me what to do. He did this because he had a plan. It was a strategic step in my abuse.

I had been talking about escaping the life that my family was living. I had been telling him that I would never do the horrible things he was doing. He wanted to prove me wrong.

He told me that I must do these things or he would kick us out of the house. I believed him. I was a kid. Unfortunately, this abusive event mired me further in shame. And my stepfather knew that would happen.

Even with the clear understanding that I was still the victim in this situation, the pain was horrific. It was far worse than the pain of being a rape victim. And so I extrapolate.

I imagine the shame of a pedophile. I imagine the intense physical pain that must stay with the pedophile every day. I imagine the defending against the unconscious that must feel like life or death.

So when I read about or listen to pedophiles discuss their “disease” and I hear them say they were “born this way” or “there is nothing they can do to change it,” I know why they say it.

They would rather be reviled by society for the rest of their lives than face the pain of recovery. And honestly, I think society would rather revile them than help them. Conveniently, it works out for everyone except the victims and the overall unconscious health of the human race.

It is amazing how the truth and the pain that comes with it can be so scary. It is amazing how an individual would rather accept a life as a societal outcast than face whatever happened in their life that built their shame to such an astronomical level, a level that would generate such an intense need to place their shame anywhere else. It is amazing how jail can seem better than freedom, the kind of freedom that only comes from truth.

If even a small percentage of pedophiles were willing to do the work it took to recover (and could find the support to do it), our collective consciousness would shift so dramatically that we would not recognize our own planet. We would begin to take the human race to a completely new level. Call me an optimist, but I believe it is possible — if we make another choice.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/06/03/the-ultimate-pain-recovering-from-trauma/feed/158621The Masks of Traumahttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/04/26/the-masks-of-trauma/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/04/26/the-masks-of-trauma/#commentsSat, 26 Apr 2014 22:35:12 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=57271Sometimes I receive emails from acquaintances I knew in my early years. They usually start by expressing their deep concern for me and what I went through.

Each message like this is healing because validation and concern for my situation was something I desperately needed as a child.

But their next questions are more challenging. “Should I have known?” “How did I miss the signs?” The answer has always eluded me. I really have no response.

I know I was an extremely anxious teenager and young adult. Even when my children were toddlers, I remember having panic attacks. Anyone who was paying attention would have noticed I was anxious.

However, most people aren’t paying attention. That is why this work is sometimes referred to as “building awareness.” In addition, there are so many anxious people in the world. And in high school, I am sure I behaved like the average teen.

I was caught somewhere between hyperarousal and dissociation. While I had a habit of studying every aspect of a room and the people around me, a threat — even a small threat — could send me somewhere else, almost as if I were daydreaming. And yet, nobody knew it.

If I missed an entire lesson at school, I could teach myself the information at home. I was able to hide my dissociation because I am lucky to be booksmart. My grades never faltered despite my dissociative nature. And nobody could see what was happening on the inside. To them, I seemed like a normal person, albeit a little stressed.

The constant analysis of my surroundings was my most prominent survival mechanism. It provided me with the knowledge that I was relatively safe, or not, but it also provided me with the information I needed to play my role.

I was an actress. I had a role to play in each scenario and I could usually figure out my role within seconds. I did whatever it took to ensure that I was accepted as normal, and more important, that I was safe.

I realize now that I deserved an Academy Award for my performance … a 30-year performance in which I developed a series of masks that fooled the whole world. I became exactly who every person wanted me to be. And that was different for every person.

My answers to questions were carefully pieced together to ensure that I responded in the perfect way. My house was spotless because I had learned that appearance mattered most. I dressed professionally all the time. I never showed too much skin so as not to appear like the slut I had been told I was. Of course, I also did not want to invite unwanted advances, since I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to turn them down.

I hit all the major milestones. I went to college and finished in four years. I landed that first job out of college. The pay wasn’t impressive, but I kept that to myself. I married the perfect man at the perfect age and bought the perfect house. To the outside observer, my life looked pretty good. But on the inside, I was falling apart.

Now that I am in recovery, there are some days that it seems impossible to come back to the real me. I get frustrated by my lack of self-understanding. But other times I can give myself a break. I realize that I have spent most of my adult life as an actor on a stage.

I have never let down my guard. I have never stopped studying my surroundings and the faces of those around me. I have exhausted myself by evaluating and adjusting my behavior constantly to meet the needs of those around me.

In case this sounds selfless, it wasn’t. I was only trying to stay safe. When I am willing to admit my constant efforts to hide who I am, it is not surprising that I can no longer access the real me.

I understand that most people wear a mask to some extent. We all grow up with messages about expectations from society. We all have an “understanding” of who we are expected to be. However, for many children, the message is consistent. It doesn’t change on a daily basis. It may even be possible to isolate the message in our psyche because it has been repeated so many times, eventually removing the mask that was worn to meet the expectations of others.

In my case, the mask had to change constantly. It would morph almost every day. And the mask took over my entire being. It was running my life. The mask was me. There was no original self left. It was buried behind years of soul destruction. Honestly, my original self seemed lost forever.

And so I continue to try to find myself. I remove one mask only to find another. I ask myself what I want and get an answer that doesn’t seem quite right. I find myself living in my logical mind, but struggling to understand what my heart wants. When I feel like I am getting close to a real answer, the confusion sets in and the panic returns.

I want to be whole again. I want to be the person I was born to be. I want to remove the masks … all of them. I want to resuscitate that part of me that seemed to die so many years ago. I hope it’s not too late. I hope I am not lost forever.

I believe that small children have a disproportionate need for the feminine nurturing energy. When it’s not available, I think the pain runs deeper.

I am not suggesting that fathers are not needed. They are desperately needed. And their interactions with their children are critical to shaping that child’s future belief systems and relationships.

But for me, the lack of nurturing maternal energy seemed to leave a deeper mark.

I think that some of my angst comes from my core belief that women should be protecting women. If we can’t count on each other, if we can’t come together to fight this battle against gender oppression, do we have a hope of moving society toward equality for all genders? Can we ask our male allies to do the work against gender oppression that we are not willing to do?

But for my mother, this oppression was a way of life. It was all she ever knew. She never had the innocent childhood we expect our children to live. She never had the opportunity to grow up. She was not supported when she spoke up about her abuse. She was not able to escape her abuser.

She lived the same childhood that I did. She formed her own ways of coping. Her coping mechanisms were coming from her child’s mind because she never had a chance to develop adult coping mechanisms. Some of her brain development was stunted at a young age because of trauma.

This is what happens to trauma victims. It doesn’t mean there is not development. Trauma survivors can be incredibly smart. But certain areas of the brain become stunted and separate, so there is no balance between logic and emotion. And some parts of the brain may become stuck in fight or flight mode, which leads to bad decisions.

To be fair, she was trying to protect me, but her methods of protection would be considered ridiculous by most. She had two strategies. First, she taught me that I should do whatever men ask. Of course, this included sex with men when I was a small child. She didn’t want me to be raped as a small child. She taught me this because she wanted to keep me alive. She was sure that fighting back would mean death. And honestly, she may have been right. My father had made it clear on many occasions that he was not above killing us if we did not comply.

Her other approach may seem less severe, but had a major impact on my life, and like many bad decisions, it was born of money. She was constantly battling with her lack of financial security. She considered the lack of money as life-threatening as guns and knives. And her lack of money was used against us many times by my abusers. She truly felt that she could not be financially stable without a man, any man, in our lives. So she found any man, and allowed that man to do whatever he wanted.

She made an effort to ensure I was financially self-sufficient, so that I would not be reliant on a man as long as I lived. She discouraged anything I wanted to do with my life if she thought it would not be lucrative. She was vehemently opposed to anything that was artistic and creative. She was convinced that would lead to abject poverty. To her credit, it sometimes does, but almost any career can lead to abject poverty. She wanted me to go into business. She made it clear that she would not be happy with any other decision.

As a result, I completely lost myself. This was partly because of the trauma, but the impact of my mother’s strong opinions on my decision-making was also dramatic. I didn’t want to work in the business world, but that was the life she chose for me. And it did work. I was financially independent for many years. Ironically, that independence was a significant driver in my decision to break from my family. But I have spent the past six years trying to find out what I really want to do with my life.

I know it may sound as though I am making excuses for my mother. I am not. I spent many years processing a very angry and desperately sad emotional response to my mother’s abusive behavior. Only recently have I come to understand the drivers for her behavior. An understanding is not forgiveness. An understanding does not excuse the behavior. It is simply the ability to look at behavior from an objective perspective. An understanding can relate the behavior to the experiences that helped form the person. What she did is not right. She was wrong. And in her current state of denial, she still is.

But an understanding of why it happens might just keep it from happening in the future — to some child — somewhere. And that is why I will work so hard to understand it. And that is why I will write it down. And my understanding will lead to awareness because some people are brave enough to read it. And awareness will stop this. It is the only thing that ever will.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/03/15/the-mother-who-never-was/feed/756011The 5 Negative Types of People I Have Met on My Recovery Journeyhttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/03/13/the-5-negative-types-of-people-i-have-met-on-my-recovery-journey/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/03/13/the-5-negative-types-of-people-i-have-met-on-my-recovery-journey/#commentsThu, 13 Mar 2014 15:43:59 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=56009I have read countless books on self-actualization, self-realization and spiritual awareness. I have done hundreds of hours of yoga, pranayama (breathing practices) and meditation. I have worked with therapists, energy workers, acupuncturists and a million body workers. All of this has been helpful, even critical, to my recovery.

One of the primary spiritual premises I have heard is that the universe will give me exactly what I need. Sounds great, doesn’t it?

In my early years of recovery, I thought that had something to do with the physical world. Of course, as a trauma survivor, it was pretty hard to believe. Actually, I didn’t believe it. Or at least, I didn’t believe it applied to me.

Now, I look at it differently. Now, I know it isn’t about providing me a vehicle when mine breaks down. It isn’t about making my life more convenient. It is about providing me with the motivation to change my inner world, because the only way to recover is to change from the inside out.

That being said, I hate that. I hate the pain it causes. I really dislike looking at my problems from the perspective that I need to make the changes. It is truly painful. It is much simpler to blame everyone else, stay angry and play the victim. Of course, I have realized over time that ignoring the need for change just makes the next lesson a bit more challenging. I affectionately refer to them as “baseball bats over the head from the universe.”

As a child sex abuse survivor, my childhood was full of boundary-less adults. I learned very quickly that my boundaries were not important. I learned that nobody cared for my opinions and that my expression of emotion was unwanted. I also learned that I could do nothing right. I learned that everything I took pride in would be criticized by those who were already perfect in my family.

As an adult, I thought healing would be brought about by attracting supportive and emotionally available people into my life. But that’s not how it works. I had to make my own changes to bring those people around.

In looking at my past learning opportunities, I can group them into several major categories. Many have come from my children. I have written about boundary-setting and helicopter parenting on several occasions.

However, adults provide lessons as well. And today, I will focus on the adults. Of course, these are very specific to my journey. But I think that others have similar experiences.

1. No boundaries.

I have had my share of acquaintances and romantic relationships with people who lack personal space. Whether it is the need to spend too much time with me, use my stuff incessantly or glean more information about me than necessary, my lack of space has been abundant. I once had a man tell me he would die for me, but that he wasn’t willing to give me one night a week for myself. Seriously? Even he eventually realized the ridiculousness of that statement. But it took a while … and maybe a therapy appointment.

2. Emotionally and physically abusive.

I have had a romantic relationship where I had to lock the door to my bedroom after he had been drinking because he was going to start yelling about my uselessness — guaranteed. He would still stand outside the door and yell, but at least there was a door between us. I have had romantic relationships where it was assumed I would do all the work (in and out of the house) while my partner nursed the physical manifestation of the day.

And I have had some bosses that made Satan seem like a decent being. I have had bosses tell me I am stupid, that I don’t deserve the job and that I am paid too much. Bosses have micromanaged me by delving far too much in to my personal life to tell me how I should manage my time to get more hours in at work (also a boundary issue). Bosses have shut my office door and yelled at me at the top of their lungs (so the shut door didn’t really matter). And I am really good at my job (personal opinion of course).

I have also had good bosses. If you are one of my past bosses, and are reading this, just assume you are one of them.

3. Sexually inappropriate.

I cannot even count the number of older (way older) men who have been overly physical with me. I used to wonder why a man could not have a conversation with me without putting his hand on my arm or his arm around my shoulders. I have even had totally repulsive coworkers attempt to give me shoulder massages when I was stressed. There have been countless sexually inappropriate conversations at work or in volunteer scenarios. Of course, there have been more overt advances as well.

4. Perfect.

You know the type. They cannot do anything wrong. They have created their house of cards of perfection and any threat to that house of cards is met with a barrage of deflection tactics that leave their adversaries dazed and confused. Even when their fault is so insanely obvious, they will stop at nothing to avoid blame. They are not interested in having an adult conversation. They are only interested in taking you down with their version of the facts.

It has only been recently that I have developed relationships with people who could take constructive criticism like a mature adult. It doesn’t happen every time, but when it does, my relief is almost overwhelming.

5. Passive-aggressive or overtly critical.

I have spent most of my life trying to meet the needs and likes of people who were never going to be happy with my efforts. I banked my life on the perfect Thanksgiving meal, Christmas tree or bridal shower only to hear little criticisms about whatever was not just right. Looking back on it, I was creating a very impressive home life that would have rivaled Martha Stewart. But none of it was real. And none of it was appreciated. Sometimes, the comments were passive-aggressive. “If that is how you want to do it …” Sometimes, the comments were overtly critical. “Why in the world would you think that was a good idea?” But the criticism was always there.

Every one of these meetings has caused me substantial pain. Prior to recovery, I would deal with these situations by avoiding the particular person, which does not work well when they are your boss. For years and years, I was absolutely petrified to stand up for myself. I was subconsciously convinced that I would experience retaliation, even death, for speaking my mind. I know these people were brought into my life so I could stand up for myself. And in most cases, after spending far more time with them than I should, I figured that out.

However, the pain of accommodating these people for far too long has certainly affected my quality of life as an adult. I am hoping that soon, I will figure out the lesson a little faster, so the learning from these interactions can less painful. I know there are lessons in my life right now. I know this because there is pain. And right now, I have no clue what I am supposed to glean from them. But I am working to become as aware as possible, so the baseball bat doesn’t actually knock me out.

]]>http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/03/13/the-5-negative-types-of-people-i-have-met-on-my-recovery-journey/feed/156009An Open Letter to Those Defending Woody Allenhttp://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/02/06/an-open-letter-to-those-defending-woody-allen/
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2014/02/06/an-open-letter-to-those-defending-woody-allen/#commentsThu, 06 Feb 2014 23:15:57 +0000http://psychcentral.com/blog/?p=54960When I read the article by Dylan Farrow, I was shocked by her bravery, honesty and resiliency.

I was surprised by how she was willing to stand up against someone who is revered by our society as a talented artist.

However, I was more shocked by those who are willing to defend Woody Allen, a man who has been accused of child sexual abuse by one adopted daughter and married the other one [Ed. – Allen was never Soon-Yi Previn’s father, adopted or otherwise, according to both Allen and Previn.]. The myriad reasons for this defense show a complete lack of understanding for the complex trauma of a child sex abuse victim.

Let’s discuss some of those reasons…

She is lying because she wants attention.

As a survivor of child sex abuse, sometimes I am asked if I want to be on television or in the newspapers. In reality, I actually do want to be on television or in the newspapers. But I don’t want to talk about my childhood story of pervasive sexual abuse and trafficking. I want be on television because I have won the Nobel Peace Prize or cured cancer. Nobody wants to talk about being victimized, but there is a longing deep inside of a sex abuse survivor to speak the truth. In many cases, speaking the truth may be necessary to heal from the abuse. In some cases, speaking the truth may bring about the justice that was evasive for so long. It is not about attention.

She is lying because she wants money.

I don’t know Dylan’s financial situation. She is the daughter of Mia Farrow, so she is probably not starving or homeless.

However, I can speak to my own situation. When I choose to speak out against my abuser, money never crossed my mind. I thought about my father fulfilling the thousands of death threats from my childhood. I thought about retaliation toward my children. I thought about all the nasty comments from people like you. I thought about being excluded from my extended family for the rest of my life. But the money wasn’t a consideration. If you have lived a normal life without abuse, money might drive your decisions, but for me, avoiding death is pretty high on my list of priorities.

She wanted it.

This is probably the most ridiculous of all the defenses. Children are not sexual beings. They are not “promiscuous.” They don’t wonder how long they have to wait until someone invades their private parts again. Depending on their age, they may not even know what sex is, or that they are having it. They may know that this is a form of attention or affection, possibly the only form that this adult is capable of providing. But I guarantee they are not enjoying themselves. They are scared. They are children. They want to play. They want to learn. They want to have innocent and trusting relationships with adults. They don’t want to have sex.

He could not possibly sexually abuse. He is too talented to do that.

As a society, we love to profile the pedophile. It gives us all a collective sigh of relief if we can say, without any doubt, this is what a pedophile looks like.

I have some unfortunate news for society. I was raped by a banker, an Air Force colonel, a car salesperson, a housing contractor, and many other people who purchased me with their middle-class, college-level incomes. I was never sexually abused by a creepy homeless person lurking in the bushes. It didn’t happen. That is not what pedophiles look like. They are everywhere. They are talented artists. They are successful business people. They are military personnel. Stop putting your comfort level above the truth. The truth is never comfortable.

In a court of law, he would be innocent until proven guilty.

This is true — in a court of law. But there are rarely witnesses in sex abuse cases. It is the child’s word against the adult’s word. In our society, most are willing to believe an adult over a child. In the cases where the adult is particularly famous or powerful, the child is even less likely to be believed. In some cases, like the Allen case, justice may be avoided completely because of the defendant’s status but be disguised as benefitting the accuser.

“We are saving her from a nasty trial and the publicity that will follow.” But in reality, children don’t lie about this. They don’t make up sexual abuse. They have no reason to make it up. They want to be validated. They want to be supported. In a court, an abuser may be innocent until proven guilty. But this is not a courtroom. This is a child’s life.

Dylan Farrow is an adult. She can take some harassment and intolerance because she has a support network and coping skills. She will find a way to deal with the “Woody Allen defenders,” though it won’t be without pain.

But if you don’t believe her, what does that mean for the abused child who might choose to come to you for help? Will you stay in your comfortable world where bad things don’t happen to children unless they ask for it, want attention or hang out in dangerous locations? If a child comes to you about their abuse, will you allow that child to continue experiencing trauma without support? Will you make a difference by changing your understanding, no matter how uncomfortable? Or will you perpetuate the pervasive scourge of child sexual abuse for yet another generation?